The ques-
tion now was not of the woman; she had passed
out of his life. The question was of the keeping that
life itself, the life which involved everything else,
in a hard world, which would remorselessly as a steel
trap grudge him life and snap upon him, now he was
become its prey.
He walked and walked, and it was high noon, and
he was hungry. He had in his pocket a small loaf
of bread and two frankfurters, and he heard the
splashing ripple of a brook. At that juncture the
road was bordered by thick woodland. He followed,
pushing his way through the trees and undergrowth,
the sound of the brook, and sat down in a cool,
green solitude with a sigh of relief. He bent over
the clear run, made a cup of his hand, and drank,
then he fell to eating. Close beside him grew some
wintergreen, and when he had finished his bread and
frankfurters he began plucking the glossy, aromatic
leaves and chewing them automatically. The savor
reached his palate, and his memory awakened before
it as before a pleasant tingling of a spur. As a boy
how he had loved this little green low-growing plant!
It had been one of the luxuries of his youth. Now,
as he tasted it, joy and pathos stirred in his very
soul. What a wonder youth had been, what a
splendor, what an immensity to be rejoiced over
and regretted! The man lounging beside the brook,
chewing wintergreen leaves, seemed to realize anti-
podes.
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